Pity the Living
by eviemacready
Summary: Death visits Dean, Sam and Cas and tells them that an extremely powerful amulet, that was crafted from parts of the Deathly Hallows before they were destroyed, has been stolen- and he wants them to retrieve it for him before its new owner does any irreparable damage. They are sent over to England to team up with a world-class consulting detective, to help them find and destroy it.
1. Prologue

The fog thickened further as she strode along the beach. It was clear she had a purpose, although a casual onlooker would probably not think anything out of the ordinary and continue happily with their life. Not that there was anyone about to see her now. The wind was against her, whipping icily at her cheeks and roaring past her ears so that she was deafened to everything else. The busy sounds of the nearby seaside town were long drowned out.

Soon the mist was so heavy that she could barely see a few feet ahead of her- only dark, indistinguishable shapes which she blindly tried to avoid. A few times she caught her toes on larger rocks which had been obscured from her view, but carried on with not much reaction. Expressing pain was pointless.

The blood-red cliffs off to her left jutted awkwardly out of the gloom, providing the only splash of colour to the otherwise completely dreary, grey landscape.

Suddenly she felt a soft crunch under her feet, an unexpected change from what felt like miles of flat sand. She squinted downwards, grimacing at the pile of dead crabs she had stepped on. Crabs were the main catch of this town. You could buy crab anywhere and in any form, and they were famous for their taste. For this many to die was unheard of. The fog momentarily thinned ahead of her, and she snapped her head back up to look around her, revealing thousands upon thousands of lifeless, empty crab shells, piled high at the water's edge. He was close.

When He appeared she barely noticed him at first; he was so pale and wearing a cloak of a shimmering grey that almost made it seem as if he was made of the mist itself, a trick of the mind that caused random shapes in the mist to twist into the form of a man. Only his eyes made him stand out- a piercing red that penetrated the heavy curtain of fog. She shivered, although it was a different from the effects of the brutal weather. She stopped walking, turning to stare straight out at Him.

"You know, there's a nice, warm Starbucks down the road that would have done just fine." She said calmly. Although the wind was still strong, whistling icily across the beach, she didn't feel the need to shout. He could hear her, she was certain.

When his reply came, the words were seemingly all around her, as if his voice was carried through the fog and whispered to her by the wind. Which, thinking about it, was probably the case.

_You called me here. Why?_

"I think you know what I want." Her attitude had changed, her voice low and void of all friendliness.

_Yes._

"Then I suggest you hand it over quickly."

He laughed, a cold, joyless sound. _I don't let anybody have it except me._

She smiled. "Well, love, I'm not just anybody."

She raised a hand in front of her slowly, watching the red eyes with calm concentration. He laughed again, though she thought she could sense a new added uneasiness to the sound.

_You can't do anything to me. How many stupid, pathetic humans do you think have tried this same trick before?_

In response, she only lifted one eyebrow and shrugged, almost apologetically. And then she curled her fingers inwards, mimicking the action of squeezing a small ball in the air in front of her. There was a blinding surge of pure white light that tore through the fog, dispersing it with a faint scream. The wind died down instantaneously, allowing her to comfortably scramble her way over the crab hills to the exact spot where He had been standing moments before, but where there was now nothing.

"Sorry, but I wasn't really in the mood to discuss it." She muttered, scanning the ground. There was no sign that anyone had been there at all, except for a shining, silver chain that lay- desperately out of place- among the husks. She plucked it out gleefully, marvelling at the shape of the pendant swinging at the end of it. She wiped it on her jumper to rid it of most of the dirt, before holding it to the light and running a finger around the edge, taking in the shape- a small ring penetrated by a thin line, both encased in a neat triangle.

After a few moment of inspection the pendant was dropped unceremoniously around her neck. She allowed herself one more private smirk of triumph, and then the girl vanished with a soft _whoosh._


	2. Chapter 2

Adjusting to human life was much harder than Castiel had first expected. Of course, the daily routine wasn't difficult to get the hang of- he lived as Emmanuel long enough to grasp the basics of personal hygiene such as washing clothes and brushing his teeth- and Dean had agreed to provide driving lessons with only a small amount of persuasion. These things he could handle, having spent so much time observing daily human life. But Cas found that the natural and unavoidable processes of his new totally mortal body were nothing short of extremely frustrating.

"I'm hungry, Dean."

Sighing, Dean Winchester dropped the papers he had been studying and swung around on his chair to face Cas. The fallen angel was standing in his bedroom doorway across the room, wearing only a pair of Dean's hand-me-down pyjama bottoms under his usual trench coat. Upon seeing that he had Dean's attention he cocked his head and poked his growling belly. Dean rubbed his hands over his face wearily.

"I thought you were asleep." He said, flicking his eyes down to his watch and noting that it was almost 10pm. Now it had been mentioned, he realised he was getting pretty peckish too.

Cas frowned. "I wasn't; getting to sleep is still proving difficult. Also, I'm very hungry." He patted his stomach again for emphasis.

"Well, Sam should be back from his supply run pretty soon." Dean told him, turning back to rummage through the paper drifts on his desk. "In the meantime, I got you a present." He produced a small white box from amid the mess and held it out to Cas, who walked over and took it from him suspiciously. He lifted the lid from the box with care and peered inside.

"Fake IDs?" Cas pulled out the small stack of laminated cards and flicked through them with interest.

"Uh-huh. Sorry they took so long to get hold of, man. But, you know; now you don't have to use the same one on every case-"

"_Misha_?" A card from near the bottom of the pile was held up in front of Dean's face, cutting him off and obscuring his companion's bewildered expression from his sight. It featured the same, bland photograph of Cas that he had put onto every one of his new IDs, but this time with the name **'MISHA COLLINS'** printed in bold across it. Dean shrugged.

"I was running out of name ideas. Sammy and I have already taken all the decent ones."

"No, I… I think it suits me." Cas bowed his head in thanks and replaced the lid of the box, slipping it into his pocket. "Thank you, Dean."

A few moments of companionable silence passed, in which Dean found amusement in watching Cas stare at the ground in an attempt to conceal the flush that had begun to lightly stain his cheeks. Feeling like part of a real family was such a new experience to the man, and even the smallest gesture from either of the Winchester brothers that indicated they genuinely _cared_ about him still left him blushing like an idiot. As if the barrage of new emotions he'd experienced over the past weeks hadn't been confusing enough.

When Cas lifted his head again, Dean didn't look away. The hunter smiled as they locked eyes and cocked an eyebrow, a silent indication that he was pleased his gift had been so well accepted.

Cas cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Dean, look, I-"

The faint echoing clang of the front door announcing Sam's return cut him off, causing Dean to break eye contact and return to staring intently at the abandoned files. Barely a couple of seconds later, the younger Winchester's enthusiastic voice drifted through the corridors of their hideout to them.

"Hey guys, I'm back!"

Then Sam himself appeared in the room, a grocery bag in each hand, which he unceremoniously dumped on the table in front of his brother. Dean eyed them expectantly.

"You remembered the pie, right?"

Sam sighed. "Yes, Dean. I remembered the pie." He pointed to the bag to his brother's right before disappearing into the kitchen to retrieve himself a cold beer, shaking his head. "And you're welcome, by the way."

Beaming, Dean lifted the apple pie from its place nestled amongst the other groceries and held it up for Cas to see.

"You'd better be damn excited, Cas, because today you're gonna experience the most incredible taste sensation you can possibly hope to imagine." He jabbed a finger at the picture of the pie on its box. "This pie's for you, my friend."

"No, Dean. I couldn't possibly ask you to share your pie with-" Cas began, but Dean held up a hand to silence him.

"It's fine, Cas. Nobody should have to live without experiencing the taste of any sort of pie. I mean, seriously, it's my pleasure." He said, and then turned to yell through to the kitchen. "Hey, Sam! Bring us through a couple of plates!" There was no reply.

"What's he doing in there?" Dean mumbled. "Sam?!"

"Perhaps he can't find the bottle opener." Cas volunteered, although this gave little reassurance once Dean reminded him that 'the guy opens beers _with his hands_'. The pair fell into silence, waiting for the sound of bottles clinking, or a refrigerator being shut far too forcefully, that would signify Sam's continued presence in the other room. But the only sound they could detect in the bunker was the low growl of Cas' belly and the stern 'shhh' that he directed at it, as if he thought it would be quiet on command the way a small child is.

Eyes narrowed, Dean plunged his hand between the sofa cushions and drew out a small gun, which he loaded slowly, careful not to make a sound. He pushed himself up to standing, nodding at Cas to do the same, and began to creep towards the doorway to the kitchen. Castiel followed obediently, clutching his stomach in an attempt to restrain the offending noises and drawing out the salt gun from a nearby drawer. Dean and Sam had been very effective at training him with human weapons now that he was unable to draw on his angelic powers, and very quickly became impressed with the efficient way he picked up their fighting methods and took to a hunter's way of thinking. He nodded at Dean to show he was backing him up, and then they both charged into the kitchen with a synchronised cry of intimidation.

"Ah, hello Dean. I was wondering when I'd have the pleasure to see you again."

Dean lowered his weapon, his face now registering deep confusion, and carefully laid down the pie he realised that he was still clutching in one hand. In the corner of the room, leaning against a counter, Sam took a swig of beer and shrugged, shaking his head at his brother to show that he was as clueless as him, but stayed completely silent. Cas merely gaped and kept his gun held up for comfort, although he knew it would be useless if he tried to use it anyway.

Standing in the centre of their kitchen, slurping a chocolate milkshake with casual indifference, was Death.


End file.
